Authors: Graham Sharp Paul
A metallic voice interrupted his silent prayer that he would live long enough to hold Anna in his arms again. “We’ll be dropping out of pinchspace in five minutes.”
“And about time, you asshole!” Michael screamed with sudden fury, erupting to his feet, fists hammering out his fear against the door. But there was no response, and the silence hung heavy. “Jerks,” Michael muttered, slumping back onto his bunk.
• • •
Hours after they had dropped into normalspace, Michael sensed the subtle changes in the artgrav that told him the starship was decelerating in-system.
Commitment; it has to be Commitment
, he thought.
And
that means my day of reckoning is at hand
. He shivered, the memory of the last time the Hammers had gotten their hands on him still red-raw.
A fist hammered on the door. “Stand up, hood on,” a voice said.
Michael took a deep breath to steady himself, then did as he’d been told. The door banged back. He was grabbed, plasticuffed, and hustled out of his cell, all without a single word being said, his repeated demands to be told what was going on ignored.
After a long walk, a change of air gave him part of the answer he was looking for: He was in a shuttle.
He was headed dirtside.
• • •
A lifetime later, Michael climbed out of the mobibot he had been pushed into after the shuttle had landed. The sun was hot on his back, and even through the hood, the air was thick with the smell of plants running riot.
I’m in the country
, he thought,
but which goddamned country
?
“Right, this is what’ll happen,” a voice said, cutting his plasticuffs off, “so pay attention.”
“Yeah,” Michael muttered. “Like I give a shit.”
He was ignored. “Stay where you are,” the voice continued. “In five minutes, take the hood off. You’ll see a road. Walk down it. Half a klick on you will come to a small village. You’ll be met there. Don’t try to run, don’t turn back, and don’t leave the road. We
will
watch you every step of the way, and I’ll stunshoot you if you don’t follow my instructions. Understood?”
“Yeah, but what the hell is this all about?”
“Just do what you’ve been told. You’ll find out when you’re supposed to.”
“Fuck off, you prick,” Michael said, by now hopelessly confused. None of it made any sense, but he waited the five minutes anyway. When the time was up, he ripped the hood off and tossed it away. He looked around. It didn’t help; he might have been anywhere in humanspace. He started to walk down the road, too tired and dispirited to do anything else. He reached the village and stopped. It was not much of a place. There was not a soul in sight, but the fact that it was not a Hammer village—for a start, there were none of the propaganda banners the Hammers liked to plaster everywhere—lifted his spirits a fraction.
Why he had been taken off Asthana the way he had, he could not understand, but wherever he had ended up, it was not on a Hammer planet. That was all he cared about right now.
But what the hell was he supposed to do now?
Baffled, he began to think he should go knock on a few doors when a large mobibot came down the road and stopped in front of him. Four men climbed out; they spread out into an arc and walked over to where he stood.
“Michael Helfort?” one of the men asked. “Lieutenant Michael Helfort?”
“Yes,” Michael replied, his face twisted into a puzzled frown, “but how’d you know that?”
“I’m Detective Inspector Macauley, Jamuda Planetary Police. I have—”
“Jamuda? What am I doing—”
“Lieutenant!” Macauley barked. “You can ask all the questions you like, but not now, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay,” Michael snapped back, glaring. “I’ve been stunshot, kidnapped, dragged halfway across humanspace, and dumped on some shithole of a planet I’ve never heard of, so if you don’t mind, I’ll ask all the damn questions I like, and I’ll keep on asking until I get some fucking answers, all right?”
Macauley’s face hardened. “Listen to me, Helfort. Shut your damn mouth or I’ll stunshoot you myself. Is that understood?”
Common sense prevailed. Taking a deep breath, Michael nodded.
“Good. Lieutenant Michael Wallace Helfort, I have here—” Macauley held out a piece of paper. “—a warrant for your arrest pending a formal extradition request from the government of the Federated Worlds. You will be remanded in custody until your extradition hearing. Do you have any questions?”
Hundreds, Michael thought as he took the warrant. He could not speak, stunned into silence by the terrible realization that he must have been betrayed by the one person in humanspace he’d thought he could trust: Vice Admiral Jaruzelska.
• • •
“… and then the police turned up,” Michael said, “and I was arrested. The rest you know, François.”
“Hmm,” the fresh-faced man sitting across the table said. “The Federated Worlds was behind your abduction from Asthana; there can be little doubt about that. The problem is that we have no way of proving it.”
“Hah!” Michael snorted his derision. “One hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?” he said.
“Of course it is, but without hard evidence, that’s all it is. I’m sorry, but how you got to Jamuda is irrelevant.”
“So what are my options?”
“Limited, to be blunt. The provisional arrest warrant specifies that you will be charged with aggravated grand larceny.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Michael said. He tried to sound flippant. “I did steal three dreadnoughts, after all.”
“I know you did, and the Federated Worlds were at war, which is why the charge specifies aggravated grand larceny. The bad news is that’s a capital offense …”
“Oh,” Michael whispered.
“… and unfortunately for you, Jamudan law permits extradition for capital offenses.”
“So what?” Michael said, dismissing the problem with a wave of his hand. “The Federated Worlds haven’t executed anyone for centuries.”
“That’s not a precedent you can rely on,” Hammel said. He pulled a piece of paper out of his folder and pushed it across the table. “This is a transcript from one of the Federated Worlds’ news networks, and needless to say, your arrest is the headline story.”
“Those scum-sucking lowlifes,” Michael hissed after he’d read the page. “Bastards,” he said, and pushed the page back. “They don’t like me … not that they ever did.”
“No, they don’t, and they’re not alone. There’s enormous pressure on your government not to waive the death sentence, and that pressure will not go away.”
Michael’s head dropped into his hands; his mind raced. He looked up again. “You think they’d ask for the death sentence?” he asked.
“I think they will.”
“Let them. President Diouf will never allow it.”
François Hammel threw his hands up in frustration. “How can you know that?” he snapped. “Things have changed since you were last back home. The Hammers have your people running scared, and even Diouf has her limits.”
“I’ve met the woman, François. I can trust her with my life. I don’t think the death sentence will be a problem.”
“Your call,” Hammel said with a disbelieving shake of his head.
“Any luck tracking down Lieutenant Sedova? Was she kidnapped too?”
“There is no sign of her here on Jamuda. The Feds are only interested in you. Anyway, that’s it for now, so I’ll see you … let me think … yes, tomorrow afternoon,” Hammel said. He pushed his chair back and climbed to his feet. “That’ll give me time to talk to the people at Justice. I need to see how they feel about handing a man over to the people who had him kidnapped.”
Unable to sleep, Michael lay awake long into the night. If the young lawyer from the public defender’s office was right, he was headed for a Fed court. The thought of the fear-fueled storm that would break over his head the minute he stepped onto Fed soil terrified him. He’d had a taste of what lay ahead after the Battle of Devastation Reef. What Giorgio Pantini from World News and his fellow gutterscum from the trashpress had in store for him would make that unhappy time pale into insignificance.
Not that the trashpress was the problem. Staying alive was the problem, and he had trouble seeing how he’d do that.
If he escaped extradition, he would end up dead. Jamuda might be a neutral system, but that would not stop the Hammers from coming after him. By now, it would be no secret where he was being held. He had seen the news reports; the Hammers would have seen it too.
If he was extradited, he’d be tried in a Fed court, found guilty, sentenced to death, and, if his faith in President Diouf was misplaced, executed. And even if he escaped the death penalty, he’d be jailed for the rest of his life.
“Oh, crap,” he said under his breath. “I am screwed.”
Monday, May 6, 2402, UD
Kovak Remand Center, city of Kovak, planet of Jamuda
“How are you today?”
“Bored shitless,” Michael replied. “You guys have the worst holovids.”
François Hammel smiled. “True enough,” he said. The smile vanished. “I have news, and not good news, I’m afraid.”
“Add it to all the rest,” Michael muttered. “Come on; tell me.”
Hammel pushed a piece of paper across the table at Michael. “This is a warrant for your arrest pending a formal extradition request from the government of the Hammer of Kraa Worlds.”
A hand reached into Michael’s chest and squeezed his heart hard. “Fuck,” he whispered; his head dropped into his hands. “The Hammers never give up.” He looked up at his lawyer. “Same old bullshit. The charges, I mean.”
“Let me see. On December 17, 2399, Universal Date, in the town of Barkersville, Commitment Planet, Hammer of Kraa Worlds, you murdered Detective Sergeant Kalkov, Commitment Planetary Police Service, and Trooper Askali, Hammer of Kraa Doctrinal Security Service, both in the course of their duties.”
“Like I said,” Michael muttered, “the same old bullshit.”
“Maybe, but this—” Hammel poked the piece of paper. “—means the Feds will have to wait to get their hands on you. I know, I know,” he said, putting up a hand to preempt Michael’s response. “It’s crap, but the court needs to agree that it’s crap before it gets thrown out.”
“Which it will, right?”
“Jamuda has never extradited anyone to the Hammer of Kraa, because it is a well-established fact that they use torture as a matter of routine …”
“Tell me about it,” Michael said.
“… but even the Hammers are entitled to due legal process, and that will add to the time it all takes. We’ll go through the Hammer request in detail as soon as I get it from Justice. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve had a chance to look at the Hammer’s paperwork.”
• • •
Back in his cell, Michael lay on his bunk, hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. The Hammers’ extradition request was a worry. Not because of the request itself—Hammel’s assessment of its chances was probably correct—but because of what it said about the Hammers’ determination to get their hands on him.
Michael felt very uncomfortable. Once back on the Federated Worlds, he would be safe. Here on Jamuda, he was not, and that meant the Hammers would be coming for him and soon. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.
He banged the button on the wall-mounted intercom.
“Yes?” a disembodied man’s voice said.
“I need to talk to my lawyer. It’s urgent.”
• • •
The guard closed the door of the booth; Michael flicked on the privacy screen and waited in patient silence until the earnest face of his lawyer appeared on the holovid screen. “Hi, François.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I want to see someone from the Fed embassy.”
Hammel frowned. “That won’t be easy. You’re not their favorite person. Can I ask why?”
“The Hammers aren’t serious about extraditing me. They—”
“Hold on. I don’t think you can say that.”
“I can. Like you said, they’ve never extradited anyone from Jamuda, ever, which means they’re wasting their time, and they know it.”
“I’m sure they do, but that shouldn’t stop them from following legal process.”
“Legal process?” Michael rolled his eyes. “Oh, François, give me a break,” he said. “This is the fucking Hammers we are talking about. Like they give a damn about due legal process. Come on! They’re just trying to slow things down, that’s all.”
“Eh? Why would they do that?”
“So they can kidnap me and take me back to Commitment for a show trial, that’s why. Though why they’d bother, I don’t know. They’re going to kill me anyway.”
“Not sure I’d agree with that.” Hammel sounded skeptical.
“Ever been to the Hammer Worlds, François?”
A look of horror crossed the lawyer’s face. “Hell, no!”
“Ever met a Hammer?”
“No.”
“Heard of Doctrinal Security?”
“Of course. Who hasn’t?”
“Well, I’ve been to the Hammer Worlds.” Michael’s voice sharpened as anger took over. “I’ve met lots of Hammers, I’ve been a prisoner, I’ve been tortured by DocSec, and I still carry the scars to prove it. So you should believe me when I tell you that those bastards will come after me, and it won’t be to read me bedtime stories.”
“All right, all right,” Hammel said, his hands up, “I believe you. But what can your embassy do?”
“Maybe nothing, but it’s worth asking them to lean on the Jamudans to beef up security around here. From what I’ve seen, a Hammer hit team would have no trouble getting into this place.”
“Fine,” Hammel said with a sigh. “I’ll contact the embassy. You want to talk to them direct?”
“I think that would be best.”
“It won’t be easy, but leave it to me.”
The cell door swung open, and a guard stuck his head in. “Let’s go, Helfort. You have a visitor.”
“About bloody time,” Michael muttered. He got to his feet and followed the man out of the cell and down the corridor to the interview room, a cramped space cut in half by a floor-to-ceiling plasglass divider.
A woman was waiting for him; she looked unhappy. “I’m Colonel K’zekaa,” she said once Michael had sat down. “You asked to see me?”
“I did, sir. Thanks for coming.”
“Not my decision, Helfort,” K’zekaa said, her voice tight, controlled.